Fran Rizer - Callie Parrish 06 - A Corpse Under the Christmas Tree by Fran Rizer

question did make me wonder how long it had been since she’d seen her son though.
    “His daddy’s hair was thinning. If he’d lived long enough, he probably would have been bald, too,” Ellen said.
    “I guess so.” Miss Lettie’s voice lowered, barely audible. She turned toward me. “I don’t want a long write-up. You can say that Jeffrey Junior was killed in a car accident and announce the time and date of the service, but that’s all.”
    Taking Miss Ellen’s hand, she said, “Take me home now,” in a child-like voice.
     
    • • •
     
    Confusion filled my mind when Miss Lettie and Ellen left. I was definitely tired, both physically and emotionally after beginning my day witnessing a birth, but the thought of that newborn baby boy made me feel good. I was a little excited at the idea of going to dinner Saturday night with that good-looking, hot deputy, but guilt feelings crept around inside my head. Would it be cheating on Patel? Was it even possible to cheat on someone after only a few dates and kisses? He’d been so sweet when he called earlier. I put that thought on my mental shelf and got to work.
    Jeff Morgan’s obituary was soon completed, posted on our Internet page, and emailed to the local newspaper. Sometimes families want funeral notices sent to The State Newspaper as well, but Miss Lettie had said St. Mary Gazette was the only one she wanted.
    Next I made several phone calls. First was to the florist to order the casket spray and Middleton’s usual sympathy wreath. Then I needed to arrange the service.
    The first pastor I called was Dan Christianson who frequently performed services for us when a family asked Middleton’s to arrange for a preacher. Pastor Christianson wasn’t available, so I called Pastor Mark Holt. He’s a Hospice chaplain, and at the last service he preached at Middleton’s he’d said, “Call me if you ever need me. I’d be glad to help whenever I can,” so I took him at his word and called.
    “Pastor Mark,” he answered.
    “This is Callie Parrish at Middleton’s Mortuary. We have a decedent with no church, and his mother wants a pastor to perform the service. Would you be interested?”
    “I always want to help, but I already have a funeral tomorrow for one of my Hospice patients. What time is this scheduled?”
    “It’s not tomorrow, but Saturday with visitation at one p.m., service at two p.m.—both here at Middleton’s. Interment will follow at St. Mary Cemetery.”
    “I’m available for that. I’m driving right now. Let me call you back and get the information when I’m stopped and can write. I’ll want to visit with the family tonight.”
    “Fine. I’ll be right here.”
    My next call was to Ruth Gates. She’s got a great voice, can sing anything, and her charges are reasonable. Ruth was available Saturday also and would have no problem with the songs Miss Lettie had requested. Our usual organist, Linda Jonathan, had played often when Ruth performed and was pleased to put us on her calendar for Saturday. This was going well. Pastor Mark called back for information about Jeff and his mother.
    Otis or Odell usually set up arrangements for opening graves and transporting the awning and chairs to the cemetery, but I still had to deliver folding chairs, an artificial white silk wreath for the door, as well as both guest and food registers to Miss Lettie’s house. I decided to do that immediately.
    When I told Otis I’d booked Pastor Mark, Ruth Owen, and Linda Jonathan as well as talked to the florist, he suggested that after I went to Miss Lettie’s, I could take off the rest of the day. “I’ll be here all afternoon to greet visitors, and with Mr. Morgan the only decedent here, it probably won’t be busy until tomorrow when the obit’s in the paper. Didn’t you say you’re picking up Big Boy from the vet? No reason for you to drive back here for your car. Just take the van. Your gigantic dog will be more comfortable in that than in the